


Whip Therapy (Naming the Problem Remix)

by Woldy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, F/F, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woldy/pseuds/Woldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a mixture of three parts psychology, one part violence, and one part sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whip Therapy (Naming the Problem Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redcandle17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/gifts).
  * Inspired by ["The Problem That Has No Name"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/47972) by redcandle17. 



> Many thanks to the fabulous L for betaing. All remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.

Millicent knows what people associate with the words _pro domme_ : a corseted, stiletto-heeled whore with a whip. In their eyes, the client pays to get off. Millicent sees it differently, because the essence of her job is emotional, not physical. Being a domme is a mixture of three parts psychology, one part violence, and one part sex. That final part is reserved for Millicent's favorite clients; the ones who blossom with every bruise and welt.

~ 

The announcement of Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley's engagement appears in the _Daily Prophet_ only three weeks before the latter walks into Millicent's office. That first time, Millicent makes her wait.

She watches through charmed glass as five minutes elapse, then ten. After fifteen minutes Weasley is tapping her manicured fingernails impatiently against the coffee table and shifting in the chair, crossing and re-crossing her legs. The woman is almost vibrating with indignation when Millicent finally calls her through.

"You've kept me waiting for nearly twenty minutes! I'm not paying for that!"

Millicent stands perfectly still and watches her, letting the silence stretch out.

"Look-" Weasley starts again.

"Quiet."

There's no reply, but Weasley looks mutinous.

"I give the orders. That's what my clients pay for. You, Weasley, are paying for the privilege of whatever I decide to do to you."

Weasley's eyes narrow, but her cheeks are flushed. 

"Kneel," Millicent orders, but Weasley doesn't move. _Ah, I knew it._ The student revolutionary was never going to be an obedient sub; the kind who yearns to please. Weasley's the other sort. Well, Millicent knows how to work with that.

In a sudden movement, Millicent wraps her fist in Weasley's hair, twisting hard. "I said _kneel_."

This time, Weasley drops instantly, landing on the floor in a sprawl. For a moment, Millicent's grip is keeping her upright. 

"I think you've been deceiving people for a long time. They see a brave sister, or daughter, or fiancee. They don't see the real you," Millicent says softly.

At her words, Weasley trembles. Her eyes are fixed on Millicent's face, pupils blown wide. 

"I see you," Millicent tells her. "Don't ever think about lying to me."

~ 

There are paparazzi shots of Weasley and Potter in the _Daily Prophet_ all week: the two of them at breakfast; Potter pushing through a crowd outside the Auror HQ; Weasley on her broom; and a saccharine picture of them in a garden. In the last, Weasley is wearing a pink sundress and Potter's arm is wrapped around her waist, his body tilted towards her. They're both smiling, but Millicent watches closely and there's a moment when the smile doesn't quite reach Weasley's eyes. She folds the paper and tucks it away.

It's not a surprise when Weasley returns. 

"On your hands and knees," Millicent orders. When Weasley doesn't move, Millicent strikes her across the cheek with the back of her hand. "Down."

This time, Weasley obeys, her eyes lowered.

"I'm going to spank you until your arse is redder than your hair," says Millicent, and Weasley's head jerks up.

"No, I have training-"

Millicent slaps Weasley's thigh, hard. "You're forgetting who gives the orders."

"You're forgetting who pays the fee!"

Millicent hits her with full force across the bum. The blow almost knocks Weasley flat.

"Tell me, who's in charge here?" Millicent counts to five silently, and when there is no answer she delivers three quick stinging smacks. "Tell me."

Silence. _Smack, smack_.

"You're going to have to say it, Weasley," Millicent warns, walking slowly round to her head. She puts a finger under Weasley's chin and tilts it up, so their eyes meet. "I'm losing my patience."

Weasley swallows. There's a flush rising on her neck. "You're in charge."

"Yes," Millicent says, sliding her hand around the side of Weasley's neck and down her spine, caressing the freckled shoulder-blades and dip of her back. "Remember that."

~ 

She's not looking for information about Weasley's upcoming wedding, but it's hard to avoid the press coverage. Social columnists gossip about the guest list, political columnists opine about Potter's standing in the Ministry, sports columnists speculate about how the marriage will affect Weasley's Quidditch career, and legal columnists provide interminable descriptions of tangled magical family law. As far as Millicent can tell, ninety-nine percent of it is rubbish.

The only thing in the _Prophet_ that looks halfway credible is a secondhand report of Potter and Weasley's exclusive interview with _The Quibbler_. Most of the page is filled with a huge picture of Potter and Weasley walking hand in hand, but Millicent skips to the text underneath.

"This is what I dreamed about last year," Potter is quoted as saying. "I always wanted a family, and the Weasleys are the most loving family I know. I couldn't be happier." Weasley isn't quoted at all. 

Millicent thinks back to Weasley's behaviour at school, goading the Slytherin Quidditch team and jeering at the Inquisitorial Squad. She remembers Pansy's letters recounting how Weasley cheeked the Carrows until they Crucioed her. It's strange that other people don't see the dissonance between that smart-mouthed daredevil and her public image as the perfect fiancee.

The next day, Weasley is back in Millicent's office. It might just be coincidence, but Millicent suspects cause and effect: the more Weasley puts on a show of pure, sweet love in public, the more she needs a hidden release.

This time, Millicent canes her. There are few things more enjoyable than the sight of Weasley bent over the table, her pale arse marked with red welts. She shudders every time a blow lands.

"Count them," Millicent orders. "I won't stop until you reach twenty."

Weasley loses count over and over again, until the white skin of her arse is a swollen, bruised mess. Millicent has delivered nearly a hundred strokes before Weasley finishes.

~ 

"I don't know if I can do this any more," Weasley says.

She's tied to the St Andrews Cross, naked except for a thong and clamps on her nipples. Her back and shoulders are streaked pink from the flogger.

Millicent pauses, lowering her whip. "You remember the word?"

"Not _this_ ," Weasley says, voice rising. "My life! Harry! This fucking wedding! You were right, I'm lying to everyone. Everyone except you."

For a long moment, Millicent doesn't speak. She does this job because she's good at reading people, and especially good at telling the difference between what they want and what they need. Desire is written in every inch of Weasley's body, but right now it's hard to tell what she needs.

Millicent steps closer and presses the tip of her flogger against the crease of Weasley's buttocks.

"Feel that?"

"Yes!" Weasley gasps, and Millicent slides the flogger forwards, between her legs.

"When you're in this room, he doesn't exist," Millicent tells her, pressing the handle of the flogger up against her cunt, and sees Weasley writhe against it. "In here, you're mine."

~ 

The press grows ever crazier as Weasley's wedding date approaches, until Millicent stops reading the _Daily Prophet_. She's doesn't need their coverage to know how events are progressing anyway; she can see it in the way tension seeps from Weasley's body under the whip.

On her last appointment before the wedding, Weasley stops in the doorway. "I... I should probably stop coming here."

Millicent forces herself to shrug and look away. "That's your choice. My clients are free to terminate their contract whenever they wish."

There is a long silence, and then the sound of sharp heel clicks as Weasley walks out.

Saturdays are always busy, so Millicent is already working when someone hammers on the playroom door. One glimpse through the charmed glass is enough to see red hair and a white robe. For a second Millicent hesitates, torn between curiosity and professionalism, but the former triumphs. Besides, whipping Weasley is far more satisfying than spanking Professor Slughorn.

"I'm so sorry, but something urgent has come up. I'm afraid I'll need to cut short your appointment today," she tells him, her mind already on Weasley. 

Slughorn looks almost petulant as she shows him to the exit.

When she opens the door, Weasley bursts in. "I had to see you! You said you saw the real me, and none of them do! They all _think_ they know who I am, like I'm the sum of my family, but there's all these things they don't know and I can never tell them and they asked me "Do you take Harry Potter...?" and I just thought _no_ -"

"You're dressed for him," Millicent says coldly. "Didn't I tell you that he doesn't exist in this room?"

Weasley's mouth snaps shut.

"When you walk into this room, you leave him outside. Understand?"

Weasley nods. Her expression almost looks chastened, but Millicent can see her nipples hardening through the silk bodice.

Millicent lays her hand on Weasley's flushed cheek. Softly, part promise and part threat, she says, "In this room, you're mine."

Weasley quivers, her lips parting, and Millicent _knows_ she's already wet. 

Weasley's hair is piled in an elaborate arrangement of curls and white flowers, but it only takes seconds for Millicent to tug out the pins. Red hair tumbles down around Weasley's face, and Millicent runs her hand through it.

"Better," she allows. "Kneel for me."

Weasley drops to her knees in an instant, and doesn't resist when Millicent guides her onto all fours. The white robes spread across the floor, and Millicent slides her hand under the fabric, stroking up the inside of Weasley's pale thigh until she touches the dampness at Weasley's crotch.

"I'm going to fuck you," Millicent tells her. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Weasley doesn't answer, but Millicent can see her face reflection in the mirror, all dark eyes and flushed cheeks.

Millicent selects a large strap-on and when she presses it to her trousers, just above the pubic bone, the charm fixes it in place. In the mirror, she can see Weasley watching.

"Spread your legs for me," Millicent orders, and Weasley complies, knees sliding wider and crumpling the white robes around her. "Wider," Millicent insists, kneeling behind her and guiding Weasley's legs with her hands until she's spread open in one of those impossible poses only attainable for porn stars and athletes.

In front of her, Weasley is a vision of white lace, freckled skin, and waves of red hair. She doesn't look debauched yet, _claimed_ , but she will.

Millicent pushes up the robes until Weasley is bare to the waist, revealing the cream thong beneath her skirts. 

" _Accio_ knife."

Weasley gasps, eyes widening as the knife flies into Millicent's hand. Millicent hesitates, giving Weasley a chance to use her safeword, but she doesn't speak. Her chest is heaving.

Slowly, Millicent slides the tip of the blade under the fabric of Weasley's thong and cuts it loose on one side, then the other. The scraps of fabric fall away in her hand.

"Do you want it?" Millicent asks her, meeting Weasley's eyes in the mirror.

Weasley nods, biting her lip.

"Say it."

"Fuck me," Weasley whispers. " _Please_ "

Weasley moans when Millicent pushes the tip of the strap-on inside her, pressing back greedily. Millicent steadies her hips with a hand, digging in her nails in warning, and Weasley moans again. The groans rise in volume as Millicent fucks her deep and slow, and get louder again when she rides Weasley faster, fucking with a brutal snap of her hips. 

Weasley's hands are scrabbling on the floor, her body rocking, back arched. Every muscle in her body is taut, and she's so, so wet. She's wailing even before Millicent slides her hand beneath Weasley's legs, over the clitoris, and then she comes in wave after pulsing wave.

Millicent watches as Weasley sags onto the floor, her forehead pressed to the wood. 

"We're not done," Millicent tells her, pulling out slowly, and Weasley's eyes dart instantly back to the knife that lies beside the scraps of her underwear. The knife. _Of course_.

One day, Millicent is going to take flowers to Bellatrix Lestrange's grave. She never had the pleasure of meeting the woman, but she's coming to realize that the mad bitch is responsible for most of her best clients.

"I'm glad you returned," Millicent says, running her hand up Weasley's back, across lace and silk, then damp skin, "because we're only getting started."


End file.
